Theresa Weir: The Girl with the Cat Tattoo

Focus.

But it was hard when every sight and sound and smell was a distraction. As he continued on his way, he tried to divert himself from a growing sense of panic and his inability to understand why anybody would ever leave home. He tried to calm himself by redirecting his attention to the qualities he would look for in a mate for his mistress.

The new guy had to have a nice voice. Nothing deep or scary. And he couldn’t move too fast either. He couldn’t smell funny. That was a big one-smell. Nice hands. Yes, hands were important. Maybe that was selfish, but so be it. They were a family, and the new person had to fit into both Max and Melody’s life.

Max was just beginning to calm down, to think that this world beyond his backyard wasn’t too bad and that it might even be exciting and fun and he might like to come here again even after he found a guy for Melody, when suddenly all hell broke loose. Sirens shrieked, almost shattering his delicate eardrums. Tires squealed, cars pulled to a stop in the middle of the street, lights flashing. Doors slammed, people shouted, and uniformed officers threw a skinny girl against the hood of a police car while she screamed and cussed.

From off in the distance came the sound of an ice-cream truck. Max recognized the distinctive music because sometimes Melody would buy what she called a drumstick, and she would let Max lick ice cream from her finger. The happy music relaxed him a little, but instead of running, he sat frozen on the sidewalk, watching the drama unfold. Like he’d done when David was killed. He’d been unable to move. Unable to help.

Cops.

So familiar. The shoes, the pants, made from fabric that was too thin, in Max’s opinion. He much preferred jeans. Easier to sink his claws into. The belt with a gun that, if shot, would be louder than the sirens.

Melody told Max a lot of things, the big one being she would never again date or marry a cop.

As quickly as it had come, the scene in the street dispersed. The cops stuffed the woman in the car, and soon there was nothing left but the ice-cream truck.

And Max got back to his mate list.

Nice voice.

Nice hands.

Not a cop. Definitely not a cop.

Max continued on his quest.

He liked to think he was one cool cat and everybody who was anybody knew him, but in truth he had very little street cred since he wasn’t known outside the walls of his own home. Call it antisocial, but Max preferred humans to the company of cats. Cats seemed…well, kind of stupid. That was the only way to put it. Stupid and selfish. All they thought about was their own personal comfort. A patch of sun. Favorite food. Sure, those were all good, but a cat had to look beyond that sometimes.

It didn’t take long for Max to realize that without the confines of his home his internal clock was messed up. It seemed like he’d been walking for a long time, but maybe it would be equal to a nap on the front porch, followed by a snack, a little exercise with a cat toy, and another nap. He was pondering the passage of time when the houses dropped away and an expanse of green opened up. He heard high-pitched squeals that he knew belonged to kids.

Max hated kids.

Yes, there was Melody’s librarian gig, but Max and Melody had a silent agreement. He wouldn’t talk about his day if she didn’t talk about hers. Much. That was important in a relationship.

A man sitting on a bench caught Max’s eye.

He had wild gray hair and a gray beard, big black shoes that were untied, long strings that would have been irresistible had Max been home. Although nobody else was around, the man seemed to be talking to someone.

He had a nice voice. Soothing, and not scary in the least.

Max stepped closer.

The man spotted him.

“Well, hey kitty. Look at you with them yellow eyes and that black-and-white coat. You are one handsome bastard.”

Max smiled, and for a moment he felt the uncontrollable urge to make the clicking noise he sometimes made when he saw a bird.

“Come over here and see old Jerry.” The man held out his hand in a way that wasn’t threatening. Max stepped closer until the man-Jerry-was able to touch him, patting him awkwardly on the head. Not a cat person, but he could be trained.

The man smelled like everything Max had passed on his way to the green space. The bus exhaust, hamburger grease, cigarettes. Like the organic, rotten odor that drifted from the holes at the street corners where the rats played. Like the sweet sour smell that came from the bottle in the paper bag beside the man.

Was this a mate for Melody? Had Max found him already?

“I’m getting hungry. How about you?” Jerry asked.

Now that Max thought about it, he was hungry.

The man tried to pet him again, but Max dodged the hand and circled his new friend’s legs like a nervous fish.

Jerry replaced the screw cap on his paper-bag bottle, stuck it in his grocery cart, and hefted himself to his feet. “I know a good place to eat,” he told Max. “Free food.” Jerry moseyed off.

Max couldn’t figure out if Jerry was pushing the cart or using the cart to prop himself up. Melody needed a healthy mate, not someone who drank from a paper bag and needed a cart to support himself.

Should he ditch this guy?

But he was hungry.

A mother and two kids approached.

“Kitty!” One of the children ran at Max. She was all pink clothes and red cheeks, and he knew her breath would smell like sour milk and Gummy Worms. Mom grabbed her hand and pulled her back, whispering something about a homeless man.

Max’s head shot up. Homeless? Melody had a home, so maybe a homeless man would be a good mate. But something told Max this guy, while having many of the requirements on Max’s list, might not be right for his mistress.

“Coming?” Jerry shouted over his shoulder.

Max followed, his tail with the bump in it pointing skyward, the tip bent in an awkward question mark.

He couldn’t help but notice that they were moving farther away from Max’s kingdom, and that made him nervous. He still had a strong bead on home, but the sensation of vast distance was growing, gnawing nervously at his belly. He had the overwhelming urge to stop in the middle of the sidewalk and make strange noises. He restrained himself, but it was only a matter of time before he began yowling like a baby.

The man didn’t move very fast, barely shuffling along the sidewalk, a smart technique for keeping his feet inside his shoes. Once again Max considered ditching him, but he found it hard to let go of an idea once it took hold. He also had to admit that he felt a little safer wandering around the city now that he’d found a friend. He noticed that people gave Jerry a wide berth, some even crossing to the other side of the street when they saw him coming. Max was impressed.

They turned down an alley where a cluster of people waited at a green door. Above the door were letters, and not for the first time Max wished he could read.

Melody read to him sometimes. Maybe she was reading aloud to herself, but he liked to think she was reading to him, telling him stories like the Cat in the Hat, Alice in Wonderland, and Pippi Longstocking.

“That your cat, Jerry?” The question came from a man who looked a lot like Max’s new friend.

“It’s a kitler,” someone else said.

“Kitler?” Jerry asked.

“A cat with a mustache. Kitler cats are crazy. My mother used to have a kitler and it shredded her furniture.”

Everybody had to get in on the conversation.

“I saw a kitler jump on a dog’s back and ride it like a monkey on a bicycle.”

“My aunt had a kitler, and it stole her baby’s breath,” a woman contributed. “Kid almost died.”

Oh, the garbage people believed. But Max couldn’t deny that many cats were a little high-strung. Truth be told, Max came from a family of weirdasses. When Max was still on the teat, someone told him he was a descendent of Cleopatra’s favorite cat. He didn’t know if it was true. Most of the cats he’d run into claimed the same heritage. Regardless, he and his two surviving littermates were a bit unusual. His sister, a psychic, was living somewhere in Wisconsin, and his brother…well, Max had lost touch with him a long time ago. He’d once told Max that he could read minds, and Max believed it. All things considered, Max was the slacker of the bunch with no real talent.